


Baby, You're No Good

by vintagerogers



Series: I'm Just Trying To Love You Crazy [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Wade, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 03:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15234162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagerogers/pseuds/vintagerogers
Summary: “I’m with you because I want to be withyou, Wade,” he tells him softly. “All of you. I’m not with you because I’ve tricked myself into thinking you’re perfect."





	Baby, You're No Good

**Author's Note:**

> me again!!!!!!! back already with a happier ending to my last less than happy fic :~) a lot of people asked for this bad boy and im nothing if not eager to please so here we are! i hope yall love it :~)

The bed beside him is empty, the sheets are cold and unused, and Peter knows before he even opens his eyes.

He can feel it in the crushing weight that immediately presses down against his chest. The bed beside him is empty, the sheets are unused and unbloodied, and ice starts to seep into Peter’s veins, so cold that he shakes with it, wrapping his arms around himself as he curls up beneath the sheets in a bed that’s too big when he’s all alone.

When he’s not alone, it’s crowded. Wade’s a huge guy, very tall and very broad, and he has a thing about crowding into Peter’s personal space, even as he’s sleeping. It doesn’t matter what the weather’s like, how uncomfortably warm it is in their apartment, void of air conditioning, how much more cool, comfortable they’d both be with at least a sliver of space between them, Peter always wakes up to Wade crowded onto his side of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around him.

Wade is a lot of things, and he is a lot of bad things, and inconsistent is at least three of those things, but he was always there when Peter woke up, wrapped around him, pressed against him. Except now, their bed is empty, and Peter’s never been so cold.

The sheets are cool and neat like they haven’t been touched all night, and it knocks the wind out of him. He presses his face against Wade’s pillow, trying to take a deep breath, but there’s a lingering scent of him, of the cologne he uses too much of because Peter had once mentioned in passing that he likes the scent, and then suddenly, all at once, Peter’s gasping for breath, heaving great, pathetic sobs into the pillowcase.

Maybe he should’ve seen it coming. He definitely isn’t the first person Wade’s packed up and left in the middle of the night. It took him all of a minute to wake up to an empty bed and know that Wade had left because he‘d done it before. Peter wasn’t the first.

He’d thought he was different, though. He hates it, he hates how naive he had been, he hates sounding like the dramatic female lead in a teenage romcom, but he really thought what they had together had been different. That’s what Peter gets, he supposes, for loving someone and thinking they’ll stay in his life. That’s not the way things work for him. He has a bit of a Midas touch when it comes to people he cares about — everybody he touches, everybody he loves, they die. If they don’t die — if they _can’t_ die — they leave. Nobody stays.

He just thought Wade was a special case. He‘s stubborn, nearly as stubborn as Peter is, and Peter knows, with absolute certainty, how much Wade loves him. Even now, sobbing ugly, choked sounds into Wade’s cold pillowcase on their big, empty bed, he has no doubt in his mind that Wade loves him. He’s the most emotionally stunted person Peter’s ever met in his life, and he doesn’t always tell him in so many words, but Peter’s known Wade long enough that he doesn’t need him to. Not to say Wade never tells Peter he loves him, because he definitely does. Sometimes, getting him to say it is like pulling teeth, but he definitely does. It’s just that Wade, while he never really stops talking, is actually completely awful with words and telling other people how he feels. He doesn’t shut up, but he doesn’t really express himself with words, either.

The first time he told Peter he loved him, he didn’t say it all. They had been doing the superhero thing, like they tended to do, saving New York as masked vigilantes and all of that, when Peter had gotten thrown into the side of building so hard the back of his head had split open through his mask. He blacked out pretty quickly after that. When he came to again, with the worst headache he’d ever had in his life, Wade was leaning over him, mask rolled up around his nose so Peter could see the wide, relieved smile that broke out across his face as he blinked open his eyes. He’d hit his head pretty hard, so for a second, his train of thought was kind of all over the place, and all he could bring himself to focus on was Wade’s straight, white teeth and the scar at the corner of his mouth that always made his smile crooked. Then Wade heaved out a breath, saying, “baby boy,” with a laugh like he’d never been happier to see him, and that’s when Peter knew. Wade loved him.

He knew it with even more certainty an hour later, when he’d been curled up on Wade’s couch, crudely bandaged up, and Wade returned from getting them dinner with paper bags from every fast food restaurant within at least a mile.

“I didn’t know what you wanted,” he said, hoisting them all onto the coffee table in front of him, “so I got you everything.”

Peter had no doubt in his mind, then. He loved Wade too, completely, wholeheartedly, and he thought they were both just stubborn enough that they’d be able to make it work.

He almost starts to think that maybe he’d been wrong, but he knows he hasn’t. He still knows, with everything in him, that Wade loves him. He's awful at love, but they’re both pretty awful at love, and they both knew it from the very beginning. It’s part of what makes them so good together.

Just like that, a fire starts to burn in the pit of Peter’s stomach, doing it’s part to melt the ice that had started to spread throughout his chest. It takes a few minutes, but when he finally gathers himself enough to stop crying, to catch his breath, he sits up, and he’s filled with more fire than ice.

“Fuck that,” he says aloud. If Wade really wants to do this brooding, dramatic thing that he’s doing, he can do it on his damn time, and he can do it without hurting Peter. If he really doesn’t wanna be with him anymore he can just break up with him, because they’re both rational adults and that’s what rational adults do when a relationship comes to an end. The leaving in the middle of the night thing he’s trying to pull is not gonna fucking fly. Peter deserves better than that.

He climbs from the bed, wiping the last of his tears away with the back of his hand. He dresses quickly, in a pair of dark skinny jeans and an old college sweatshirt of Wade’s from a college he never attended and Peter isn’t sure why he owns. They’re both things Wade loves to see him in — he’s obsessed with the way Peter’s ass looks in skinny jeans and he has a weird thing about Peter wearing his clothes — and he pulls them on because if Wade is gonna insist on doing this mopey, brooding thing that’s he doing, Peter’s gonna make it sting a little. He quickly toes on his shoes before he leaves, not looking back at the cold, empty apartment, and how big it seems when he’s there all by himself.

He makes it as far as the stairs outside before he hesitates, blinking up at the sun. He knows with absolutely certainty that Wade’s in love with him, but there’s a small, insecure part of him that starts to wonder if maybe he’d just gotten bored. Peter isn’t exactly the most exciting person Wade’s ever been with, and he knows this for a fact. He has the whole Spider-Man thing going for him, sure, but he isn’t always Spider-Man. When he’s not, he’s Peter Parker, and Peter Parker isn’t really the most interesting person in the world. He gets that feeling in his chest again, cold and heavy, and it’s all the motivation he needs to finish his way down the steps, making a beeline down the street. Because Wade doesn’t get to make him feel like that. Not, at least, without talking to him first.

It’s as he’s walking, hands shoved into the pocket of his sweatshirt, that he realizes he really has no idea where Wade is. He’s unpredictable on his best day, and he could’ve already gone and skipped the country in the time it took Peter to wake up and realize he’d left. He has to try, though, and he knows he has to try, and it’s with another deep breath that he starts with all of Wade’s usual haunts. The bar, and every other bar within arms reach of their apartment. The roof that had very quickly became _their_ roof, where Wade liked to go to clear his head and where Peter had shown him his face for the very first time. The taco place run by the tiny, terrifying Mexican woman that hates everybody, Peter especially, but really likes Wade. He isn’t there.

It’s late afternoon when Peter runs out of places to look. He’s about ready to start from the beginning, and scour every inch of the city that he can, when he gets a random inkling of an idea. He pauses on the street corner, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. It’s a long shot, and he knows it’s a long shot, but really, what’s the harm in checking one more place before he starts from the beginning away. He turns on his heel, rushing back the way he came, only fishing his keys from his back pocket when he gets to his apartment, blocks from where he’s living with Wade. It’s mostly empty, save for the couch and the bed frame that had been there when Peter had moved in. The only reason he keeps paying the rent is that it was his first apartment, and he had spent so much time trying to find it that he isn’t ready to let somebody else have it just yet. At some point, he‘s gonna have to. Just not yet.

He unlocks the front door, and it’s not until he’s climbing the stairs that he realizes exactly how much he’s hoping that Wade’s going to be inside. He’ll absolutely turn the entire city upside down if he needs to, but right now, his chest still kind of hurts, and he misses him. Which is ridiculous, because he’s not usually this codependent, because Wade sometimes has to leave the country for days, weeks on end and Peter survives just fine without him, but right now Peter feels more frail than he’s sure he’s ever felt, and he just wants to be in his arms again. He’s not ready to lose Wade just yet, and he stands outside the front door, taking shallow breaths for at least a minute before he finally gathers the courage to unlock the front door, to push it open.

Wade’s inside. The relieved breath that Peter exhales is almost a sob, because Wade’s sitting on the couch in living room, head bowed. He has a bottle of something in one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, and he’s wearing the old pair of grey sweatpants Peter had been wearing yesterday, before Wade had insisted on pulling them off of him. He looks up when Peter pushes the door open, and the expression on his face is indecipherable, even without the mask.

Suddenly, Peter doesn’t know what to say, and silence lapses between them both for several long, still moments. It’s Wade that finally speaks, low and rough. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

Peter shakes his head slowly. Another moment passes before he can form words. “I didn’t.”

Wade doesn’t really react to that, and he doesn’t say anything else, and Peter feels a pang of annoyance at him. “This was the last place I looked,” he says, if anything, just to make Wade feel bad, to make him realize Peter had spent hours of his day looking for him. “I didn’t find you anywhere else.”

Wade nods slowly. If Peter hadn’t known him so long, he might not've noticed the way his throat worked as he swallowed thickly, the way his fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle in his hand. “I thought it might feel like you were still here,” he says, and Peter doesn’t know what he was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. His heart feels suddenly heavy in his chest. “But you really cleaned this place out when you left. Had to supply the liquor myself and everything. You aren’t a great host, baby boy.”

Peter doesn’t know if it’s intentional or not, the pet name, but it kind of makes his heart hurt. “Why are you here, Wade?” He asked softly. Wade lifts the bottle, tilting it towards Peter like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and he scoffs. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Wade scoffs back at him. “I don’t know anything.”

Peter sighs. His heart still hurts, but beneath that, there’s another beat of annoyance. “You’re really gonna do this?” He asks. “You can’t be honest with me for thirty seconds after walking out on me in the middle of the night?” 

Wade heaves his shoulders. “No.”

“That was a trick question,” Peter says, the slightest bit more forceful, because who the _fuck_ does Wade think he is? “You don’t get to do this.”

“I don’t?” Wade asks, ever sarcastic, and Peter wants to hit him over the head with the bottle he’s holding.

“No, you don’t,” he says. “This isn’t how you treat people you love, Wade.”

“And you’re the expert on love, aren’t you, baby boy?” He asks. It’s supposed to hurt, Peter knows it’s supposed to hurt, but he just ignores him. Wade’s lashing out to try and upset him enough that he leaves, but it’s not gonna happen. Peter’s here for a reason. 

“I love you, Wade,” he says, and just like that, his expression crumbles. It’s like Peter had just hit him.

“That’s not fair,” he says, and Peter lifts an eyebrow.

“No? Is it cheating?” He asks. “Like packing up all your stuff and leaving in the middle of the night?” 

“You wouldn’t’ve let me go,” Wade says, and Peter can’t help himself, he actually snorts out loud.

“Of course I wouldn’t’ve let you go!”

Wade shakes his head again, sitting up slowly. He places the bottle, half empty, down in front of the couch, ducking his head again as he rubs the back of his neck. His jaw is tight when he looks back up. “You know I’m no good for you, baby boy.”

Peter blinks at him. “And it’s up to you to decide that for me?”

Wade’s jaw twitches again, and he rubs a hand over it as he looks away again, at a spot on the wall to Peter’s right. “I’m trying to be good,” he says tightly.

“Really?” Peter asks. “This is your idea of being good? Which one of us is this supposed to be good for?” Wade doesn’t say anything, burning a hole into that same spot on the wall, and Peter wants to kick something. “I woke up and you were gone, Wade! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”

“I’m no good for you,” Wade says again, and he says it like he’s speaking through his teeth. 

Peter‘s eyes almost roll back into his head. “Why _not_?” 

“Because I’m a fucking _monster_!” Wade roars. He rises to his feet, lifting the bottle with him just to throw it against that spot on the wall. “Fuck!”

That’s not quite what Peter had been expecting him to say.

He feels a pang of something else in his chest, something that makes all the anger in him evaporate, something that makes him want to jump into Wade’s arms and hold him until he feels at least a little better. “Wade,” he starts softly, but Wade doesn’t hear him.

“Just fucking look at me!” He shouts. His eyes are unfocused, far away, like he’s had this conversation with himself before and Peter just happens to be around for it this time. “I’m a failed human experiment! I _slaughter_ people to make a fucking living! I’m not good for anybody!” He turns to Peter then, shoulders heaving with each ragged breath. “Especially not you!”

“Wade,” Peter tries again, soft, but he’s not finished.

“You’re New York’s fucking golden boy, aren’t you? You’re so far out of my fucking league and you don’t even realize it,” he spits, voice lower, more lethal. “You’re so fucking _good_. You’re the most unbelievable person I’ve ever met and you could do so much better than me, than — than some failed fucking lab experiment. If it were anybody else I wouldn’t care, but you’re — you’re so fucking _good_ you make me wanna be good to you, and the only way I can do that is to fucking let you go.”

He brings his hands up again, running them over the top of his head, down the back. “You deserve somebody just as fucking good as you are,” he spits. “I could never be that for you. You fucking know that.” His chest is heaving as he slumps back down on the couch, lowering his head into his hands. “You fucking know that,” he repeats. 

“Wade,” Peter starts softly, and he can’t help the sound that bubbles out of him, almost a laugh. “You don’t really think I care about any of that, do you?”

Wade snorts into his hands. “I know you don’t,” he says, not lifting his head. “You should.”

“Why?” Peter asks, and before Wade can answer him he crosses the room, kneeling in front of him and taking Wade’s wrists in his hands, prying them away from his face. “I’m with you because I want to be with _you_ , Wade,” he tells him softly. “All of you. I’m not with you because I’ve tricked myself into thinking you’re perfect. I _know_ you’re not perfect. I live with you, remember? You’ve bled on all of our furniture, you’ve broken all of the windows, you steal the blankets, sometimes you leave on work trips and I have to pretend I don’t know that you’re gonna be killing people while you’re away. And I don’t care,” he murmurs, “because I love you.”

Wade lifts his head reluctantly, before he looks back down at where Peter’s fingers are curled around his wrists. “You shouldn’t,” he says, and Peter shrugs.

“Tough,” he says, “because I do. And I’m gonna keep loving you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.“ Wade doesn’t look up from their hands, so Peter lets them go, instead moving to stand between his knees and wrap his arms tightly around Wade’s neck.

Wade doesn’t move for a long moment, but Peter doesn’t let go, holding him tightly until Wade presses his face against his stomach, until his big hands come up to cover Peter’s back. “I love you,” Peter whispers, and Wade’s arms tighten around him. “Please stay with me.”

“Tell me more about how I’m a terrible roommate,” Wade says into his sweatshirt, and it startles a laugh out of Peter. “That was really getting to me.”

“You broke our air conditioner,” he reminds him, and Wade pulls him closer against his chest.

“Oh, baby,” he says.

Peter bites his lip around a smile. “And you don’t have any hair,” he says, “but you waste so much of my shampoo.”

He can feel Wade shrug more than anything. “It smells like you.”

Peter can feel his smile soften around the edges. He brings a hand up from Wade’s neck, cradling the back of his head, running his fingers slowly over the ridges of his skin. “I‘m an adult, Wade,” he tells him softly. “I can decide for myself what’s good for me, and there’s nothing you can say that’ll convince me that that's not you."

“Pete,” Wade starts against his stomach, muffled, but Peter’s quick to shake his head. 

“If you decide you don’t wanna be with me anymore, you can break up with me,” Peter tells him. “But you’re not allowed to disappear because you think it’s what I need. I get to decide what I need, and I need you.”

Wade lifts his head slowly, keeping his hands spread across the small of Peter’s back. “You only like me ‘cause you’ve got a size kink,” he says, and Peter shrugs, easy.

“Yeah.” Wade laughs, and it’s been all of half a day but Peter has missed that sound more than anything in the world. “I love you,” he says again. “Please come home.”

Wade doesn’t say it in so many words, but Peter can see how much he loves him in the crooked grin that spreads across his face, can hear it in his voice when he says, “yeah,” and nods his head. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> dont forget to come find me on [tumblr](http://sweetheaert.tumblr.com)!!! im always down for prompts/requests and im always pretty desperate for friends/attention so dont be afraid to hmu :~)


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